


Sticky Wicket

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Silly, if it's not crack it's awfully close, misuse of sporting equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a usual crime scene. Written for JWP #10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Wicket

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: If this isn't crack, it's awfully close. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #10: A Sporting Chance. Include one or more bits of sporting gear in your entry. What the gear is (bathing costume? Roller skates? Tennis racquet?) is entirely up to you.

“Well. This isn’t exactly our normal crime scene.”  
  
Sherlock gave Lestrade a withering look. “Nonetheless, this is where the crime occurred – and where the evidence may still be, assuming it hasn’t been trampled by your so-called forensic team.”  
  
Lestrade sighed. “It might help if they knew what they were looking for in all of this…Victoriana.”  
  
“It’s dreadful how I have to explain every aspect of your job to you. You see - ”  
  
A motion at the corner of his vision caught Lestrade’s attention. A glint of light where there shouldn’t be any. His eyes widened, but before he could shout a warning, John crouched, scooped something up from one of the displays, and threw, all in one smooth motion.  
  
A man tumbled out of the shadows, a gun falling from his limp fingers.  
  
“…you might have started by searching for him,” Sherlock finished with only slightly strained aplomb.  
  
John and Lestrade both ignored him and hurried over to where the man lay, John with a precautionary croquet mallet in one hand. But there was no need; the man was out cold.  
  
Lestrade turned to John. “How…?”  
  
John shrugged. “I’ve never understood why croquet sets are considered kids’ toys. The whole set is nothing but one kind of sturdy weapon after another. I mean, look at this mallet.” He spun it in one hand. “Solid wood; you could break a bone with it before it’d crack. But that’s nothing compared to the balls. He’s not the first person I’ve seen knocked out by one of those things.”  
  
“You’re supposed to hit the ball with the mallet, not throw it,” Lestrade pointed out.  
  
John’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Trust me, a hit ball can do even more damage. And it’s not like that was a regulation play, anyway.”  
  
Lestrade shook his head. “Remind me never to attend any lawn parties with you.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “As if that would ever happen.”


End file.
